


Ad astra per aspera

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Careerwoman!Hux ftw, Character Study, Hux is literally a lizard creature and you know it, Hux is so in denial he's in Narnia, Hux's head is a sad and scary place to be, I was temped to name this 'why you always lying mmmmmm oh my god stop fucking lying', I'm not saying aliens, M/M, Non-Human Hux, Phasma is a good bro, Pre-Slash, Protective Hux, Pure and Unfiltered Kylux Trash, as in there is no violence murder or BDSM, but... Aliens!, geddit cos he went through the closet and out the other side, i am trash, kylux trash, like I'm pretty sure Hux is down with that but right now he's just focused on his career, mentions of famine and death, okay I'm gonna stop now, surprisingly mild for this pairing, this isn't crack i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only a rough road which leads to the stars.</p><p>(Hux knows this better than anyone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Br’ndr’ll Kraan Hu’xxar of the G’unol, better known as ‘Hux’, has very little time for chaos aboard his enterprises. Snoke’s pet must be tolerated because, religious delusions aside, Force-wielders are useful creatures to have in one’s pocket. Especially since the Resistance have use of their own magicians. It would not do for an enemy to have access to a resource they do not. Hux does not scorn the Force-sensitive themselves, only the undue reverence allotted to those unworthy of such distinction, merely due to the tricks they can conjure. The Force, far from being a mystical, sacrosanct entity, is a tool like any other, and should be utilised in an efficient manner in the name of order. The First Order, to be specific - and the completion of their goals.

Kylo Ren is a volatile, unbalanced entity in the sea of calm in which Hux generally surrounds himself. Ren is like a feral pet, mistreated to the point of violent, incontinent outbursts of rage and fear. If Ren had been a creature, Hux would have euthanised him long ago. If Ren were not so essential to the First Order, being the leader of Snoke’s petty religious order, Hux would have ejected him out of the airlock the first time he took his vintage lightsabre to a valuable piece of machinery.

As it is, Ren is protected by the Supreme Leader’s favour. But the moment that favour crumbles into ash, Hux will be waiting; to brush the unsightly blemish Ren has left on the Order’s history aside, like the insignificant little stain it is. If there is anyone who will be remembered for the foundation of a stable new Empire, stretching across the known inhabitable Galaxy and ushering in a thousand years of peace and prosperity, it will be Hux himself.

He does not seek glory out of some paltry arrogance in the belief of his own greatness. Hux knows his own worth. He reached his rank not due to birth, or his ability to manipulate air and read thoughts, but through his own machination and sheer force of will. Human endeavour knows no bounds, and neither does Br’ndr’ll Kraan Hu’xxar of the G’unol. As a child, Hux had survived famine after famine on his home world; drought, civil war, and massacre. He has seen the sands of time shift in his favour again and again; strife followed by torture, followed by degrading humiliation, one after another until his life’s pain was a heap on which he clawed his way into the position of the youngest General in the recorded history of the former Republic and Empire. There is no torture the Resistance could imagine, worse than the life Hux endured as a young man; no bounty they could offer, that would be a substitute for the measure of peace he has found in the Order.

Hux has no qualms about the use of the Starkiller. A more efficient, delicate weapon of destruction there has never been. There is beauty in the simplicity of its function and source; to see the light of life drained from a sun, and watch it used to burn out the lives of the wretches its very energy had once brought into being. If Hux had time for poetry, he would think it a poetic machine - but instead he ruminates over the quick and merciful death, of those slaves of the Republic, on the planets the Order deemed unfit to continue. He does not think of the Resistance as his enemies as such, in the same way that a chef does not mock the animal from which his slab of meat came from, before he uses that same carcass to create a thing of beauty. So it is with the Republic in his eyes. Hux pities the poor unfortunates who cannot see the wonder in the Order’s design… to have so little foresight they cannot even imagine a life free of the burden of indecision! After their work is done, there will be occupation and food and a clear path for all. A place for everything, and everything in its place. These necessary sacrifices will carve out a vacuum for the First Order to build their towering, astounding Empire, to usher in a glorious future for all. Hux does not regret the blood that must be spilled to make such a future possible.

So he ignores the twinge in his guts, as he thinks of the suffering of those mourning the losses on those destroyed worlds; pushes away the memory of himself as a gaunt street rat, staring with hollow eyes at the corpses of his rotting parents in their open grave. Empathy is the gateway to weakness; and Hux will never allow himself to be weak again.

It is for this reason he ignores the flame in his blood each time Ren challenges him publicly, or belittles him in front of Snoke. There are so few who would dare to speak out against Hux, and he cannot deny that it attracts him, the bold audacity of this man-child only given leave to voice his thoughts due to his birth-right, and genetic pre-disposition for the Dark Side. But Hux knows there is no avoiding what is inevitable. The mental struggle Ren suffers between the Dark and the Light will eventually tear him apart, and Hux wants no part in it. Let Snoke pander to Ren’s increasingly erratic whims; Hux is a genius strategist and a true believer. There will be no room for the pathetic drivel of religion in the new Empire.

Why should Hux risk his life’s work and the very reason for his existence in the Universe, for mere carnal lust? It is beneath him and it will not be borne.

Hux tells himself it is only out of subservience to Snoke, and the Order’s needs that he risks going after Ren, when Starkiller Base begins to implode. It is only scorn, and not pity he feels for the crumpled leader of Snoke’s Knights, bloodied in the snow. He drags Ren to safety himself without the use of droids, because there is no time to waste - and not because he wants to protect the still warm and breathing form swaddled in black. And he sits beside Ren’s slowly healing form as they speed toward safety, out of a duty to see the Order’s assets maintained, and not out of any need to ensure that the impetuous man lives on.

Hux has no time for such sentiments, after all. He has an Empire to create.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux rarely corrects erroneous assumptions about himself. It is beneficial to him, if the rank and file believe various notions about him, and are then surprised when he acts in a manner which does not seem to match with their foreknowledge. Gods forbid he should ever become as wildly erratic as Ren. Hux merely wishes to keep himself a step removed from all others, by being mildly less predictable than the average Order officer.

As a tactic, it works tremendously. The Resistance believe whatever information they can glean from their spies along the Outer Rim planets, after all. It is difficult at a first glance, to see where Hux’s genetic make-up differs from a human, since they do share a common ancestry. But Hux is a pureblood of his species, and not ashamed to be so. The reason he does not flaunt it, is a purely selfish desire to guard the last secrets of his people. They are so few in number they are endangered, and scattered across the Galaxy. There is a small colony left on his homeworld, to which Hux siphons a considerable amount of his wages each month, under the guise of providing financial aid to what remains of his family. They are not strictly his kin, but they are his clansmen and the Elders of his dying species. And if Hux bribed and threatened a Galactic shipping committee into creating a route which called for refuelling there, no one need know about it but Hux himself.

He has no desire to be seen as an altruist, and truly his motives were not selfless. If famine strikes his home planet once more, they have little recourse to leave the damned place. The majority would perish without the supplies and custom which is bartered from the weary travellers that now port there. If they were to die, their rich history dies with them, and Hux would be truly alone. With no past to tie him to a civilisation which was once great, save for his father’s involvement with the Imperial Empire. Hux could never abide such a fate to befall himself, when it is in his power to prevent it.

However, his people have been brought low, regardless of the might they once held. It would shame him now, to be associated with such backstreet peddlers and thieves. Hux distances himself both physically and metaphorically from what remains of his species, in his own self-imposed exile aboard the Finalizer, and amongst the First Order. The only people who know that Hux is not fully human are his personal doctors, of which there are two. This is a necessary evil for his own survival, as many medical procedures suitable for humans would only serve to damage him. Also, time would be wasted in an emergency trying to find information on his secretive species. His classified medical records are complete and accurate, and should both those physicians perish, their replacements will automatically be allowed access to them. This is the best insurance Hux can provide for himself, and has the added benefit of creating an enigmatic, untouchable aura, as there are no others whose documents are only available to the Chief Medical Officer and his immediate underling.

Captain Phasma assured him, after Hux had to undergo minor surgery on his hand, that rumours abounded as to the reason Hux banned all support staff from the med bay until the procedure was complete. Her recounts of the troops were humorous, though Hux allowed himself only a wan smile, and did not answer the unvoiced question he could see in her uncovered eyes. Phasma rarely gave direct reports with her helmet on, which Hux appreciated greatly. His people can read micro-expressions as though they are dramatic outpourings of emotional state. He enjoys interactions with Phasma and her stoic, calm assessments, which conceal just a hint of mischief. Hux doubts that many others can catch her dry wit and identify it correctly. But he appreciates her dark humour and responds in kind. There is a bond between them, though Hux would not call it friendship. He trusts her judgement, and that is the greatest admission he could give. There are few others whose word he would take at face value, without checking their sources for himself. Their interactions have gone beyond the bounds of professionalism, though not by far. Hux would struggle if he thought Phasma were taking liberties, and he has no desire to bare weakness in front of her. For this reason they will never be ‘close friends’.

For the same reasons that Hux is glad he can read Phasma, he is grateful the foot-soldiers always keep their helmets on, in his presence. He has no doubt their innermost feelings towards his policies would make him greatly desire to beat them. Which would be rather uncouth for a man of his stature. For all the arguments Hux is drawn into with Kylo Ren, it is maddening, not being able to look upon his face and read the folly that lives there. Hux would like to pry that ridiculous monstrosity from his head, and crush it into scrap metal with his bare hands. He refrains from doing so, as he has no doubt that it would reveal too much about his heritage to display such overt strength. Futhermore, he does not doubt that Ren would respond with a judicial application of his lightsabre, to Hux’s guts, and most precious organs. Still, the irrational desire remains.

To distract himself, Hux maintains a strict regimen of meditation in the morning, and martial arts training in the evening. He rarely spars against a live opponent, though he has long since learnt to reign in his strength so as not to damage a human in a practice environment, with his non-human abilities. During the spring months, Hux slashes the amount of time in the training suite by half, instead indulging in extremely long showers. Spring is shedding season, just as unpleasant as it sounds, where irritation dances upon his flesh at all hours of the day and night, and great sheets of scales drop off him at the most inconvenient of times. Hux manages to conceal most of the process by way of his full-body uniform. There is no denying it is disconcerting to watch piles of his skin fall off, whenever he removes his clothing for three months per annum. Hux has inner scales; only visible to the naked eye when his skin is pressed with considerable force. Where the skin of a human man of his colouring would go pale, under the same circumstances, instead a pale green outline of the scales beneath his skin ripples outward from the stressed area; a chain reaction of revelation. Were one equipped with foreknowledge of his kind, Hux’s pale, bloodless visage would be a dead give away, blue-green veins always visible through translucent skin. But by the blessings of his mother’s hair colour, Hux instead blends in with human redheads, with their predisposition for pale skin. Hux rarely steps into bright sunlight enough for his human companions to expect freckles to form in response. This is fortunate, as the formation of pale green scales over his flesh in their stead, would no doubt be frighteningly unexpected for his underlings.

Hux’s reputation as an ordinary Force-null human has worked in his favour more than once. He received a blaster shot to the chest during an expected confrontation with the Resistance, when he took a more active role as a sniper, before his ascent to his current rank. Were he made of soft human flesh, no doubt the supercharged energy would have burnt through his heart. Luckily, Hux’s inner armour prevented such damage, not least because his heart is located in his abdomen rather than his chest cavity. Skin grafts had been required to mend the damage to his chest, but thankfully humans were a close enough match for such non-invasive procedures. He shed that skin the following year anyway. Though it took some five years to completely rid himself of the scarring, due to severe damage of his lower epidermis.

Hux is not a vain man, nor does he have an over inflated opinion of his looks. His ‘reptilian’ eyes and pale skin is a turn-off for many, but he has had his fair share of lovers. Hux is not so oversexed as to require a long-term bedwarmer, nor is he ignorant of his position. Republican spies are everywhere, and only the incautious would open themselves to manipulation by literally being caught with their pants down. Hux is _not_ an incautious man.

Nor is he a deviant; he only engages in sexual encounters with fully matured males and females, and only those of humanoid heritage. His desires and fantasies, though perhaps unsavoury to some, never venture into the actual obscene. He has no desire to perpetuate the suffering of the poor whores on backwards Outer Rim planets. Occasionally he will pay for an anonymous encounter with a high class courtesan. But such traders of flesh are richly rewarded, and only available on a significant salary. He always uses a fake name, does not reveal pertinent information and never falls asleep. Such encounters can be satisfying, but the rigmarole of secrecy is often exhausting, and makes the entire endeavour rather fruitless. Hux finds sexual relief more beneficial with a wholly willing party, who does not require payment, and is not frightened that Hux might have them killed or beaten afterwards, to tie up loose ends.

Since assuming control of the Finalizer, Hux no longer has an equal aboard the ship to find occasional relief with. He indulges himself with one particular Petty Officer on occasion, but only because the boy pursed him, with the kind of relentless ferocity Hux admires so much. He will not belittle his command, by taking a lover who may feel obligated to indulge him due to his rank. Only weak men need bully people into their bedchamber, and Hux cannot abide weakness. There are Snoke’s Knights, of course; outside his chain of command and not obligated to acquiesce to his whims. Of these, he has spent the most time in the presence of Kylo Ren - far too unstable a creature to consider taking to bed. Though it might help in working out some of their frustrations with one another. But Force-wielders are unstable by their very nature, and too dangerous for a psi user like Hux to be unguarded with.

Until a better option is available, Hux relies on himself to bring satisfaction in his allotted private time. That he has developed a legend of being a sexless machine that lives and breathes duty, is just an added benefit.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Hux is every bit as cold blooded as you might expect from any creature with reptiloid dna. He keeps the temperature in his personal quarters at what a human might call ‘stifling’. The air hot and dry like the acrid desert lands of his home planet, without the inconvenience of sandstorms. This is an indulgence Hux justifies because it keeps his body temperature at an optimal standard for rest and recuperation, which is the primary function of his private chambers. Cold results in a sharp increase in stress. Which is why a faint tendril of annoyance creeps its way through his veins any time he is in the wider base, or, gods forbid, on the surface of Starkiller Base. That frozen wasteland is about as close to damnation as Hux can fathom. The cold is an insidious force that worms its way into every crevice of his skin and transforms him into something vicious. It is an asset, in this way; the cold brings a clarity that warmth only chases away, with its seductive call to sink down and wallow in its pleasure. Hours could be spent soaking up the sun on a clear day when the cloudless sky stretched on forever and blood red sands tickled his bare shins.

Hux spends a considerable amount of time in meditation, and more often than not he drifts into the happiest moments of his childhood. The years he spent mostly alone, before he stowed away on a transport ship to the military school which admired his dedication and enrolled him, despite his peasantry. Since the leader of the Knights of Ren has been making a nuisance of himself on Hux’s base, he no longer finds it so easy to lose himself in the clarity of empty thought.

 _You are losing focus, little flower,_ he hears the whisper like the ripple of hot breeze in his hair, so vivid as to be a Force-hallucination, but quiet, like half-forgotten dream.

 _I am not a flower._ Hux remembers his own petulant response, a sun-ripened child in rags, quick and ferocious, filthy and hunted. His red hair darkened from grease, green surface-scales bright against the pale cloths he used as clothing. The sun had been so hot he was rarely without scales in his early years; it had been a shock to look in the mirror and see a pale, sallow-faced boy glare back at him. The memories are mixed, jumbled and disordered in way that Hux truly despises. It will not do. Even here in the privacy of isolation, there must be order.

Of course he did not appear so damaged by the time he allowed Aziz to use such endearments on him. That green-scaled child of the slums would have bit the hand that dared to reach out to him with laughter on its master’s tongue; for fear of what intentions were truly behind any form of kindness.

Aziz had whittled down his rough edges with patience, persistence, and respect. Only when Hux had accepted him as his teacher, did he allow a warmth to grow between them. He had caught Hux attempting to steal food from his stall, catching him by one skinny wrist. A grown man with a full belly and beard tucked into the sash that wrapped round it, Aziz had been a towering structure and Hux had been terrified. Instead of breaking his arm or hauling him to the lawkeeper, Aziz had slapped a ripe red apple in his hand and let him go with a boom of laughter. Hux had watched him from the shadows for days, wondering what this strange man’s game was. How long he would be kept dangling before the man pointed him out for a thief. That day had never come; Aziz had ordered him to stop skulking and help him roll out the awning if he wished to see another apple in his hands.

Hux had been fascinated by the exotic spices and sumptuous fruits on offer. It never made sense to him why Aziz sold gleaming daggers alongside his vegetables, but the tactic worked. Even a man who cannot afford it would love to split his hava-fruit with a shiny dagger. The smells drew them in and the glittering jewels in the hilts of the weapons made them hungry for more than just fruit. Aziz traded anything on the black market, though he was not a pawn broker by trade nor a hoarder of precious things. He liked his tea in a silver pot, his evenings in the sun and his sleep to be long when the weather was grim. Hux slotted into his life like a chipped piece of china, smoothed at the edges and affixed anew. The crack was there, but it had been mended with precious metal, and so the piece became more beautiful for the blemish that might otherwise have sullied it.

A hollow gnawing chews at the insides of his flesh, when he thinks of Aziz now. He was a kind man, and though he believed in order, and logic, he was a pacifist of the worst kind. He would be shamed to think the child he took in, and surely saved from a destitute life, had wrought such destruction on the Galaxy. It was he that had given Hux his nickname, close enough to his actual name to fit with little explanation. But Aziz had a twinkle of laughter in his eye, and it was obvious he knew full well that in Hux's mother-tongue, the Hux was a plant, which grew after an eruption of one of the three active volcanoes that dominated the landscape. ‘Hux’, literally meaning ‘lava-flower’, was so called because the seed would only crack open when encased in molten magma as it rolled across the parched earth. Stem stronger than a grown man, its petals were razor sharp and its leaves poison to the merest touch. But its nectar was sweet and could sustain an adult humanoid for a full week from a single drop.

 _Is this not you completely, little one,_ Aziz would ask as they sat facing one another, legs folded, posture straight and breathing deep. _The flower that grew from destruction?_

 _Yes, indeed,_ Hux thinks, sat alone in his sweltering chambers, eyes shut against his memories and the cold. _I am still that pretty thing, which appears so fragile and yet as endured so much and will survive far more. Let Ren continue to test my patience; he will see what my petals are capable of._

He wants to tear Ren’s insolent tongue from his mouth each time he devalues Hux’s work in front of their Supreme Leader. Hux bares no love toward Snoke, only a cold respect and acknowledgement of the elder creature’s powerful reach. Snoke’s health or mind will fail eventually, and even if it doesn’t, Hux is poised to take control of the Order whenever the time strikes him. He is waiting for his opportune moment, when the troops have been convinced utterly in his superior strategy and leadership. Hux will assume control in less than three years. This he has promised himself. He will oust the superfluous relics amongst their organisation, and usher in an age of glory. There will be a collective structure to the known Galaxy, a removal of the ancient, unnecessary laws and ridiculous conventions. He dreams of slaves freed from illegal mining ships tending planet-wide farms, former pleasure slaves trained in medicine and engineering, key skills they are always in need of. The Galaxy will flourish under his bold hand, and all that would oppose him crushed beneath his iron fist. Hux’s blood heats just thinking of it.

When mediation holds no appeal to him, the training rooms call. He avoids the room Ren has claimed as his own. He does not need the distraction of the rippling muscles in the man’s back to ruin his perfectly cultivated hatred. Sweat pours from Ren’s flesh as he does one-armed press ups or chin-ups, while saliva pools in Hux’s mouth. Training is heat and frustration, adrenaline and competition; it is a recipe for a passionate lust, and Hux will share none of it with someone as undisciplined as Ren.

Hux has mastered the majority of fighting styles of which there is wide enough knowledge to learn them. He does not begrudge a culture keeping its secrets, though he would gladly kidnap a master or two if they would then consent to teach him one or two tricks he does not already know. When Hux consents to spar with others, he prefers the Stormtroopers, who match his ruthless, dirty style. He finds the pickings amongst the officers to be slim. Most pass their required physical fitness testing each year through weight training and endurance, long hours on the treadmill or exercise bikes. The only one that rises above their paltry offerings is Petty Officer Thanisson, a lithe little gymnast. The boy can do things with his legs that make Hux’s eyes water. He’s spent more than one memorable evening with Thanisson’s calves wrapped around him; and not always in the training suite.

Despite Hux’s determination not to take his officers to bed, Thanisson is a welcome exception. Wiley and wirey, with the ability to snap Hux’s neck with his thighs, it took only one stern insistence that promotion would not be granted for services rendered in private, and that Thanisson was under no obligation to lie with him, for the boy to laugh in his face. That was admission enough that Thanisson was not afraid of him, though Hux did reiterate his latter point on more than one occasion. Hux made it a point never to undertake any of Thanisson’s reviews himself, to rid himself of the temptation of favouritism. Their trysts were always private, irregular, and never moved into exclusive territory. He knew full well the boy was not under his personal dominion. Regardless, he was irrationally incensed when Thanisson was severely injured during the defection of FN-2187. Already furious for several reasons, Hux had been handed a permission form to let non-essentials perish, without the aid of pain medication, due to a lack of medical supplies to sustain and heal them. Thanisson’s name was on that list - he had enough broken bones to need surgery to halt internal bleeding, and had several horrific burns from the explosion.

In an uncharacteristic display of rage, Hux had neatly broken the nose of the odious doctor who had so blithely spoken of letting talented Thanisson, agile and energetic and unfailingly loyal, die in agony, rather than sending him off-base to be tended elsewhere. The doctor had apologised profusely, whilst blood poured thickly down his chin and over his hands as he held his nose. Hux ordered the man to ensure the patients that could be saved would be granted the care they needed, before being sent to the nearest safe First Order outpost to be rehabilitated. Then he leaned close to the doctor’s flabby face, and assured him that if he ever voiced such a foolish idea again, next time Hux would personally cut his nose clean off.

It is this same outpost that Hux takes Ren to be healed when the Starkiller is destroyed. He lingers by the younger man’s bedside longer than is necessary to receive reports on his progress from Ren’s doctors, and tells himself it is because he is bitter that such an unworthy creature has been given such power and squanders it on such petty battles.

He sees Thanisson practicing his tumbles, mere walking not enough of a confirmation of health for this young man. Hux himself had added an addendum to Thanisson’s file; that the young officer would not be cleared for active duty until he could perform a triple back handspring. He is not sure if these terms were explained explicitly to Thanisson, or if he was made aware it was Hux who deemed it to be so. But judging by the blindingly bright smile the boy bestows on him, it would seem that he learnt somehow that Hux was directly responsible for his recovery period here. He basks in the warm glow of that smile for a little while longer than he should before commencing with his own regime; but there is no one of rank to judge him for doing so and Hux need not explain himself to anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering who Thanisson is he was Jojen Reed from GOT and in the movie for like .5 seconds before Finn and Poe blew up his station :( there's no proof he's dead tho so let me have my head canon okay

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a mild, fluffy headcanon about Hux' name. I thought it would be cool if it was a nickname, not a surname, and derived from a longer name which is practically impossible for people not from his homeworld to pronounce, [over here on tumblr](http://bubblewrapstargirl.tumblr.com/post/137722589397/hux-headcanon). and it just spiralled completely out of control idk what happened


End file.
